Evil Returns

by Caroline B. Cooney

  She went downstairs for breakfast.

  Her parents blinked. “Darling!” said her mother. “You look so lovely!” A funny excitement spread over her mother’s face, the same excitement Devnee had felt and corralled: celebration; the ugly duckling is a swan after all; I can relax, my plain baby girl is finally blossoming into a lovely woman.

  Her father was just confused. “Did you darken your hair, Dev?”

  “Daddy,” she said, scolding him gently.

  “You don’t have to fiddle with what nature gave you,” said her father. “You look beautiful just as you are.”

  Devnee smiled at him. He smiled back. He said, “You look great, honey. I’m so proud of you these days.”

  Her mother said, “This year let’s get a family portrait done. We’ve been talking about it for years but we’ve just never gotten to it. You wear your hair just like that, Dev. You look so lighthearted and happy and”—her mother laughed with surprise—“well, beautiful.”

  Devnee didn’t even want a sip of orange juice; anything might upset the chemical balance that had caused this.

  Her father said, “Why don’t I drive you to school, sweetheart? I’d hate for you to put those shoes into the snow.”

  Devnee smiled graciously at her parents.

  The high school lobby was impressive. Sheets of marble, hard and glittering and black, were separated by tiny strips of gold. It looked like a state legislature building, where brilliant—or stupid—decisions were made. Not like a school, where brilliant—or stupid—kids hung out.

  Long wide marble steps were topped by large planters, filled with greenery that kids either admired or threw crumpled tissues into, depending on their attitude toward life.

  Art exhibits filled the long blank wall.

  Students were everywhere. This was the room in which to meet, to plan, to wave, to talk, and most of all, to be seen.

  Devnee entered the lobby.

  And she was seen as she had never been seen before.

  Girls turned to look at her. Girls whispered to each other about how Devnee wore her hair. Boys tilted their heads the way boys do when they were thinking about what you’d be like.

  Devnee stood on display, turning slightly, bestowing on them a side view, and then a slight smile, and finally a slight wave.

  Slight, thought Devnee (her insides wildly excited, her outsides calm and perhaps even bored), because I’m used to this, and I hardly think about it anymore.

  Nina came running over. Buddy number three. Mean old Nina with her fabulous car and her magnificent sweaters. “Hi, Devnee!” cried Nina. “I love your hair. You look great, Devnee. What a skirt. Where’d you get that? I wanna skirt like that.”

  Devnee had never had a chance to snub anybody. “I forget,” she said, and walked on. Snubbing Nina felt wonderful. She would have to do it often. It was so powerful, so rewarding, to snub somebody.

  Devnee’s stride, usually halting and unsure, changed. Now she was a dancer, smooth and easy. She could feel how her hair rested on her shoulders, and how her smile decorated her face.

  I didn’t know you could feel being beautiful from the inside! she thought. What an extra treat. You don’t even have to be in front of a mirror. You can see yourself mirrored in other people.

  And I thought the vampire was kidding. I owe him. This is fabulous. This is unbelievable! This is life the way it should be lived!

  Everybody commented.

  Even the teachers commented.

  “I love your hair like that,” everybody said to her.

  “Gosh, you look great today, Devnee!”

  And at lunch, both Trey and William commented. Trey said, “Wow, Dev! Way to go! You look great. Really great.”

  William nodded, a smile never leaving his face. “This is your year, huh, Devnee? You look great.”

  Nothing about Devnee Fountain had ever been “great” before. Now it was great to see her, and she looked great, and it was great to be in school.

  People kept saying, “What did you do?” as if expecting an answer like “Changed lipstick” or “Used a blow-dryer.”

  Never in her life had the world come to her.

  Never in her life had there been such confidence, such pleasure, in just being alive.

  She was not self-conscious. Not worried. Not timid.

  She was beautiful.

  She ate differently. A beautiful girl did not stuff her face and snatch extras and lean across to grab more, she thought. A beautiful girl spent the entire lunch period nibbling delicately on the rim of a single cracker.

  When lunch ended, they all rose, making the usual passes around the cafeteria to dispose of trash, return trays, say hello to people they hadn’t spotted before.

  Devnee stood very still, accepting homage. Thinking—this is so fabulous. Having people look at you—not because you’re new, or you’re stupid, or you look funny, or your clothes are weird—but because you are beautiful.

  A girl separated herself from the rest and strolled over to Devnee. Devnee knew her. Eleanor. A leader of the senior class. Eleanor was almost regal. She did not seem seventeen, but ageless: like a medieval princess who deserved a stone parapet. “Hello, Devnee,” said Eleanor seriously. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Of course,” said Devnee.

  “As you know, the Valentine’s Day Dance is coming up,” said Eleanor.

  Devnee had not known this; in fact, she had not thought of Valentine’s Day at all. Now she remembered the holiday: the candy hearts that said BE MINE and KISS ME; the silly cards you addressed to everybody in your class; the red roses your father gave your mother, and the heart-shaped cake she frosted white and sprinkled with coconut.

  “Nominations for Valentine Sweetheart must be made this week, and the Sweetheart will be crowned at the dance,” said Eleanor.

  “How quaint,” said Devnee.

  Eleanor laughed. “I know. It’s rather embarrassing that we still do that kind of thing. But the peasants like it, you know.” Eleanor cast a meaningful look at the crowd of the plain and dull that filled most of the cafeteria. She and Devnee laughed together.

  Eleanor said, “I’d like to nominate you, Devnee, but of course I want your permission first because so many girls just don’t want to be bothered with this beauty queen stuff.”

  Eleanor, although lovely, was too stern to be nominated for anything as frivolous as Valentine Sweetheart. If Devnee were to name any girl sufficiently frilly, fragile, and lace-edged for such a title, it would be Aryssa.

  But I’m Aryssa, thought Devnee. The pasted-together pieces of her—the old person, the new face, the old memories, the new admiration—they clattered together, and seemed almost to fall apart and hit the ground. Like Cinderella’s glass slipper.

  She felt broken and afraid.

  Where is Aryssa? Is she me? Is she half me? Am I half her? Is she in school today? Does she even exist to come to school? Has her shadow joined the vampire’s body? Where is my shadow?

  Who is Eleanor nominating—the me who is me, or the Aryssa who is me, or the Aryssa who is not anybody now?

  Behind her, William said, “I second the nomination, Devnee.”

  She turned, trembling, the ice of fear blowing cold between her broken pieces, to see both Trey and William, like a matched pair of horses being readied for a race, steaming and snorting and pawing the ground.

  Neither of them wanted Eleanor.

  They wanted her.

  Devnee stroked the new thick cloud of dark hair on her head as if accepting a different crown. She ducked her head modestly. She smiled her gentlest smile. She said, “That’s so sweet of you.”

  She thought, Valentine Sweetheart. The most beautiful girl. The most loved. The most photographed.

  I’ll need a really special dress. Something in pale pink, something with ribbons.

  I’ll need a date. Which boy should I take? Trey or William?

  She smiled. The joys of being beautiful were like a great
basket overflowing with goodies. A nomination here, a handsome boy there, a mirror on this side, a camera soon to go off on that.

  They were emerging from the cafeteria into the hallway. The fluorescent lights went strangely dim, and a dark path centered itself on the floor. People shivered slightly in the sudden chilly draft.

  The filmy gold and black overlay of Devnee’s skirt lifted, and swirled, and settled. He’s here. He’s in school with me. He’s in my mind, even now, he’s reading it, knowing it.

  Eleanor said, “Then you accept the nomination?”

  “Of course,” said Devnee graciously.

  The vampire’s laughter, like a maniac with a knife, rose up out of the floor. The rest also heard, and momentarily froze, but then they shrugged, thinking it was nothing, perhaps distant breaking glass.

  But it was not nothing.

  It was him, and he was here.

  A tiny foolish sentence flew back from her memory: a tiny foolish wrong sentence she had allowed herself to think, and now it banged inside her head like metal striking metal, clashed and shouted up inside the thoughts where the vampire could live anytime he chose: I owe him.

  She had thought it, and it counted.

  I owe him, she had said.

  And already he had come to collect the debt.

  Chapter 8

  MRS. CORT SMILED AT the English class. Her smile lingered on Devnee. Even when Victoria said something of great brilliance, Mrs. Cort was hardly distracted. There were only a few minutes left in the period when she said, “Please pass your reports forward. As you know, this counts for one quarter of your grade this marking period.”

  The usual moans and groans mixed with the shuffling and slapping of papers being passed down the rows.

  Devnee’s heart missed a beat. She had forgotten to finish her English paper. She had had the rough draft done several days ago, but last night … what with everything she had to think about … well …

  “Devnee?” said Mrs. Cort. “I don’t seem to have a paper from you.”

  Devnee opened her new eyes very wide. She bit her lip in the desperate sweet way that worked so well for Aryssa. Of course, Aryssa didn’t have Mrs. Cort. And Mrs. Cort was so solid and sensible. But it was worth a try. Devnee said anxiously, “Oh—I’m so sorry—I—do you think I could pass it in tomorrow? Please?”

  “Well …” said the teacher.

  “I have my rough draft done,” said Devnee. “I tried so hard, Mrs. Cort. But my computer crashed and I didn’t get it printed out.”

  “You should have e-mailed me,” said William. “I would have printed it for you, Devnee.”

  “She hasn’t really been in town that long,” said Victoria. “I mean, it hasn’t been easy for Devnee, Mrs. Cort, getting into the rhythm of things.”

  “It’s all right, Devnee,” said the teacher understandingly. “These things happen.”

  The class divided, into those who thought it very fair that a beautiful girl should be allowed an extra day, and those who thought it very cruel that rules were bent for beauty.

  They will never bend the rules for Aryssa again, thought Devnee suddenly. Aryssa will have to get her papers in on time and pass her tests and do her lab sheets. Nobody will make excuses for her and nobody will forgive her.

  She felt afraid for Aryssa. How would Aryssa stand up to it—she who had always been protected by her looks?

  Devnee’s heart hardened. Her arteries and veins changed, too, becoming metallic and sterile.

  She remembered Aryssa that day. Telling Trey she’d been nice only to get a lab partner to do the scut work for her. Telling Trey the trouble with being nice was that people expected you to go on being nice, even when you were bored to death with it and them. She remembered Trey and Aryssa laughing.

  The hardness in her did not quite feel human, it was so steely.

  But then, I’m not quite human, she thought. I’m a makeover from a vampire.

  The room whirled and spun, as if gravity were letting go of her, as her shadow had let go of her. She would go into some sick horrible orbit occupied by vampires and dark paths, she would—

  How silly, she said to herself. Silly, silly dreams. I’m beautiful because I’m growing up at last. Blossoming. New shampoo. Vampires, indeed. What nonsense.

  She tossed her hair and felt the beautiful thick curls of it settle on her lovely slim shoulders, felt the eyes of her class turning toward her. She gripped the desk to steady herself, and returned the steady gazes of her classmates. They were surveying her. Admiring. Enjoying. Feasting their eyes on her beauty.

  Feasting, thought Devnee, and she gagged.

  How did it happen? What did he do, exactly? Is Aryssa all right?

  How much red there suddenly seemed to be in the room. Red fingernails, red jewelry, red skirts, and somewhere, red blood.

  I want to be beautiful, but I don’t want—

  Well, it probably wasn’t really like that. He probably didn’t really—

  English ended.

  Her silly twisted daydream and dark fantasies ended.

  Victoria and William smiled at her. She basked in it. She had never had a day in which the world came to her rescue and smiled back. Never a day in which there was such pleasure just to be alive.

  She stood up gracefully, smoothing her pretty skirt, readying herself to join them.

  Victoria and William leaned against each other, laughed together, wrapped arms around each other, and headed in tandem for their next class. She had not seen them as a pair, was certainly not expecting the jolt of jealousy that ran through her.

  She gritted her teeth but stopped that immediately, knowing it could not be a beautiful expression. She whirled to find Trey. Trey would be alone now that there was no Aryssa here.

  But Trey had caught up to Victoria and William. He bounced alongside them, a jock puppy tagging along.

  Devnee never forced herself on people, but she knew her beauty did no good unless people were looking at it. She rushed after them, speeding past, and then slowing herself, lingering like the end of a dance. And sure enough, their haste ended, the twosome softened, self-interest dwindled. They feasted their eyes on Devnee.

  “What’s everybody doing after school?” said William.

  “Guess I’d better check on Aryssa,” said Trey, running up the wall to leave his shoe prints.

  “Is she sick, do you think?” said Victoria worriedly.

  Trey admired his shoe prints. “Nah. She had an English paper, too, you know. She’s always sick the day a paper is due.” Trey laughed. William and Victoria laughed.

  They still think Aryssa is beautiful, thought Devnee, so they still forgive her for being dumb. What will happen when Trey goes over there?

  She imagined Trey, staring in confusion, perhaps in horror, at the thing Aryssa would be now. She imagined him reaching out to touch her, heal her, and then shrinking back because of the change in her. She imagined him seeing something on her throat, frowning, leaning forward, saying, Aryssa, what happened to you?

  And Aryssa.

  Would she know what had happened? Would she say, A vampire came in the night. Devnee sent him. Remember the creepy girl who used to live in the mansion? Well, another creepy one lives there now. Devnee chose me, Devnee picked me out and ruined me and took all I had, Trey!

  And Trey. What would he do next? Would he run away from her? Would he turn on Devnee? Would he tell the rest of the world? Would he shout: Do you know how she got that beauty? Do you know the trade she made?

  Devnee faltered, touching the wall for support.

  Terror infected her lungs like a parasite.

  It can’t be real. There is no vampire. There is no such thing as a vampire. I don’t believe in vampires. Nothing happened to Aryssa; she just didn’t get her paper written.

  Time had changed character for Devnee. It had the capacity to absorb her, like the center of a cyclone. While she had been in the cyclone, evil thoughts whirling, William and Victoria had moved
on, and Trey left for his car. She was alone in the hall with Nina. Nasty Nina with nothing but money and sweaters. I must not fall into my thoughts like that again, Devnee told herself. I must keep my thoughts on beauty and on myself.

  Nina and Devnee had to turn a corner, enter a stairwell, head down another wing. When they passed a girls’ room, Devnee ducked inside. She had to check the mirror. See if she was still beautiful.

  Yes.

  The beauty had not gone anywhere.

  Nina said, “You’re exactly like Aryssa, you know.”

  Devnee flinched.

  “Always going to the girls’ room to look in a mirror. Isn’t it enough to be beautiful, Devnee? Do you have to have proof ten times a day? What do girls like you see in that mirror? Why don’t you feel safe? It’s going to last, you know. Either you’re beautiful or you aren’t.”

  Devnee laughed nervously.

  She went to the frosted glass window of the girls’ room and tilted it inward and open for fresh air.

  It was snowing lightly. New-fallen snow blanketed the old ugly crust blackened by car exhaust.

  Like me, thought Devnee Fountain. I, too, am new-fallen.

  I sold Aryssa.

  Was it worth it?

  The very second she questioned whether the beauty was worth it, her beauty began to slide off. Like a mud mask. It peeled away from her skin and slid toward the window.

  No! she thought, putting her hands up to hold her cheeks, hold on to her beauty. You gave it to me, you can’t take it back!

  If it isn’t worth it to you, I’ll give it to somebody else, the vampire said from right inside her mind. She had forgotten that he shared it with her now. That he could live there if he chose.

  If I’m not real, said the vampire, you aren’t beautiful anyway, are you?

  She turned frantically toward the window, where outside the world lay dim and wintry.

  You’ve insulted me, said the vampire. Insulted my gift.

  She could see his dark path well—a shadow cast where there was nothing to cast it.

  It’s real, you’re real! she said to the dark path. I take it back, it was all real!

  Her face was half on, half off. She could not turn back to Nina or look around toward the row of mirrors above the sinks.